2 Mirages
by FunkyFish1991
Summary: ..Second in a series.. Sam Manson's exciting case as a new FBI agent kicks off with a shocking discovery, soon turning into a race to save many lives, including her own...AU DxS
1. One: Murder

**A/N - i ne own danny phantom pas. but i do own this plotline.**

**okay, this is the sequel to my story 'Revenge'. You might wanna read that one first. Just 'cause.**

**:p hope you like it...**

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_One_: Murder

* * *

"Done." 

Sam stepped backwards, overalls on, black hair in its habitual plait, and paintbrush in hand. She had just finished painting the left wall of the sitting room in her apartment a vibrant purple. The other walls were maroon, violet and ultramarine.

Jennie, who was arranging a bouquet on the coffee table, looked up at the finished wall.

"It looks lovely, Sam."

"Yeah, much better than before."

"Well, it's definitely more," Jennie searched for the word. "You."

Sam laughed. She gathered up her painting supplies and carried them to the kitchen sink, intending to wash them up later. But Jennie went right over, rolling up the sleeves of her purple roll neck, and got out the soap and sponge. Sam smiled long-sufferingly at her fastidious friend, then retreated to the bathroom, unbuckling the straps of her white, color-splattered painting overalls.

Sam had been in Unit 615 for a week now, and she and Jennie were becoming odd friends. She still felt some contempt towards Jake, who had not changed much, but was warming up to the rest of the team slowly. They tended to bumble, but they really cared about their jobs, which earned them her respect, if not her affections.

Sam stepped out of the shower, just tying a hair band into her wet braid, and made her way towards the door. She opened it, retrieving the Sunday paper, and kicked it shut behind her. She shook open the paper and scanned all the pages. Nothing interesting had been printed since the story of the Phantom's interference again at the 'Warehouse Rescue', as it had been dubbed by the papers.

But to Sam's chagrin, the paper had failed to mention the fact that the infuriating man should not have been there in the first place. They made him out to be some sort of lifesaving hero who could do no wrong. And while Sam was, somewhere deep inside her mind, grateful to him for helping her, she was worried that people would start trying to copy him, people who were not as lucky, or whatever he was, as he, and get themselves in trouble, or hurt. Or worse.

And even worse than _that_, they had made Sam into a damsel in distress – describing her tearful thanks to her hero, her shuddering breaths, and her screams of fear as she tumbled to her doom. Please. Sam had written a snappy letter of complaint, and, thankfully, they had written an amendment and an apology in the next issue.

But nothing big had happened recently. The headline was something about the opening of a new bridge. Fascinating.

Sam crumpled up the paper and tossed it onto the coffee table.

"I hope you're not leaving a mess in the room I just spent an _hour_ tidying!"

Sam sighed and retrieved the paper, carrying it into the kitchen and throwing it into the trash. Jennie was drying her hands, having just finished the washing, the paintbrushes and dirty plates and rollers and everything else stacked neatly on the sideboard. She had even, Sam noticed with amusement, managed to remove old, dried on paint from years ago.

"So what do you want to do now?"

"Well, I have to go." Jennie folded the towel she had been using and set it gently on the counter, turning back to Sam. "I have a date."

"Oh. Who with?"

"You don't know him."

Sam nodded. She escorted her friend to the door. "Well, good luck, and have fun!"

She heard the brunette's reply as she disappeared down the corridor. "I will!"

* * *

The next day, Sam arrived at the office to more action than she had ever seen in there. Paper covered every surface including the floor in some places, photos were strewn everywhere, people bustled and shouted, even interns had braved the office to help tidy and organize and bring coffee and everything else the pariah team was usually denied. 

Sam accosted Alex as he stormed past. "What's going on?"

"We got a case."

He started to move again, but Sam reached out to grab his sleeve and pull him back to her. "Explain."

"I can't be bothered. Go ask Jennie – she's over there somewhere." He gestured wildly to the cubicles in the middle of the room and freed himself from Sam's grip, stomping off again.

Sam made her way over to Jennie, who was hunched over her desk, staring at an open file.

"You're late."

"Yeah."

Jennie spoke again when she realized Sam was not going to explain of her own accord.

"Why?"

"There's terrible traffic. They're still working on that bridge, and they've shut off all these roads. It's a mess. The cab couldn't get through, so I had to walk from Bourne."

"Bourne? That's miles away!"

"Mile and a half. I've walked far worse barefoot. So, what's happening?"

"We got a case."

"I gathered. What is it?"

"Case 221. A murder."

"Yes!" Sam said excitedly.

Jennie looked up, startled. "What?"

"An interesting case!"

"And the kidnapping wasn't interesting?"

"Well, you know, kidnapping is just so, blasé. A murder though – its really big."

"Whatever. Psycho."

Sam smiled, and reached out her hand to Jennie for the file. "Let me see that."

Jennie handed it over, and gave Sam a running commentary as she flicked through it. "Okay, the guy was called Clayton Simon, thirty-eight. He was a successful businessman, C.E.O and Chairman of his own company and worth millions of dollars. He was the husband to a Molly Simon, and father to two children, William and Ella Simon, nine and six, respectively."

Sam winced at the thought of what this man had been torn from.

"His wife found the body when she returned from a party just after one that night, or, um, that morning. The children had been upstairs the whole time."

She pushed a photo under Sam's nose. Sam's stomach twisted as she looked at the body. The silvering man's eyes were wide open, his mouth agape, his arms twisted helplessly behind his back. The terror in the eyes, even lifeless, unnerved her.

"Suffocation?"

"Uh, yeah. How did you know?"

"I've seen it before." Sam pushed away the memories. "Murder weapon?"

"Unknown – they didn't find one."

"Any ideas as to what it was?"

"They think it was cloth, but apart from that," he voice trailed off.

_Cloth_, Sam thought. _Great_._ It could have been anything_.

"Have we questioned the wife yet?"

"Not yet. She's hysterical, apparently."

"Is she acting?"

"I _beg _your pardon?"

"Could she have done it?"

Jennie's eyes widened at Sam's rudeness, and her answer was slightly spluttered. "No! She was at a party – there were almost one hundred witnesses!"

"Don't get all cross: I'm just speculating. Any other suspects?"

"No."

"Come on, Jennie. Rival business owners? Embezzlers he discovered? Someone he fired? Someone he put out of business? There are always suspects, especially for important or high-profile people."

"Oh, okay. I'll check it out."

"And get us an interview with the wife. I don't care how upset she is, we need to talk to her."

"I'll see what I can do."

Jennie picked up her phone as Sam retreated to her desk with the file and started to read it through carefully.

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**whatcha think? review please!!!**

**okay, so a few people told me the last story was rushed. if you think this one is rushed, now or in later chapters - let me know!!!**

**i also have some story ideas on my profile ... if you could read them and tell me which one you think i should write next that'd be great!!!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	2. Two: Widow

**A/N - i don't own DP, but this story _is_ mine.**

**like i said before - i've got a sort of poll running on my profile about which story i should start writing next - if you could check it out and tell me which idea you like best that'd be great!**

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_Two_: Widow

* * *

It was starting to get cold, and both women wore long coats as they stood on the doorstep of the Simon house the next morning. Jennie's was dark purple tweed, and Sam's was black leather. The rest of her outfit was black too, and she felt like something out of _The Matrix_. She liked it. 

Jennie knocked timidly on the door. After one minute, no-one had answered. Sam sighed crossly and slammed the knocker down five times.

"Sam! They're in mourning!"

"We're trying to find a murderer."

That silenced her. A woman dressed in grey opened the door after a moment, looking furious. She was evidently a maid.

"Do you mind?" she cried. "My mistress is terribly upset right now! Leave us in peace."

Sam flashed her badge. "We're from the FBI, and we very much need to talk with Mrs Simon."

The maid looked undecided. Sam stared her down.

"Alright." She ushered them into what looked like a parlor and gestured for them to sit. Jennie sat, but Sam stood, arms crossed. "I will send the mistress down." She glared at Sam. "Be nice."

Sam scoffed. "Of course I'll be nice."

The maid looked very unsure, but moved towards the stairs anyway.

"She was right, Sam." Jennie said from the couch. "Please be nice, for my sake as well as hers. The poor woman has been through enough."

"Jennie, I'm _tough_ - I'm not _inhuman_."

Jennie fell silent. Sam surveyed the room. She knew that the murder had occurred in the lounge round the back of the house, not here, but she was quite interested. The room was enormous, lavishly decorated. Sam crinkled her nose. Too lavishly. The gold and vases and china and ornaments and photos and pictures and flowers everywhere seemed vulgar to her when altogether. The room was bordering on cluttered.

A woman entered the room. Sam almost spluttered at the stereotyped figure before her. She looked just like the trophy wife of a business mogul would, with her platinum blonde hair in a perfect bob, her muted suit, low heels, nude tights, pearl necklace and large earrings. It was almost sickening.

Jennie rose quickly and walked over to the lady, who looked composed, yet downtrodden, and reached out her hand.

"Mrs Simon? My name is Jennifer Douglas, and this is my partner, Samantha Manson. We were wondering if we could ask you some questions."

Molly Simon shook the hand stiffly, then Sam's. She motioned to the sofa. Jennie reseated herself, and Molly sat on the sofa opposite her. Sam pulled over a wooden chair and sat backwards on it at right angles to both of them.

"What would you like to know?" The widow's voice was tired and strained.

Jennie spoke, taking notes, while Sam just observed, studying the woman.

"So, Mrs Simon, what time did you return from the party?"

"I got home at about one fifteen."

"And did you find your husband right away?"

"No. I walked in, put down my bag, went into the kitchen for a glass of water."

Sam butted in. "Were you drunk?"

Molly scowled at her. "I suppose."

Jennie glared at Sam and she looked fierce enough for Sam to be quiet.

"Please go on, Mrs Simon."

"Anyway, I got the water, and I drank it facing the stove. I saw a strange reflection in the tiles behind it, and I turned around. I was looking into the lounge, and I saw," her voice cracked. "Clayton, lying on the ground. He wasn't moving, and I screamed, dropped the glass, and ran to him. I screamed and screamed, I woke the children, they came down, saw their father," the woman was close to tears.

Jennie reached over and put her hand on the other woman's trembling one reassuringly.

"Don't cry, Mrs Simon," she said gently.

Molly Simon appeared to collect herself. Sam watched it cynically.

"So, I called the police. It was, terrible."

"I know," Jennie spoke soothingly. Sam admired her adeptness at dealing with mourners. She opened her mouth, and Jennie tried to silence her with another death-glare.

"Mrs Simon," Sam said anyway. "What time did you leave for the party?"

"Um, I think the party started at eight, so I left at about seven, thirty, seven forty, perhaps."

"And your husband was alright?"

"Yes, he drove me to the party."

"Right. What time do the children usually go to bed?"

"Well, their bedtime is eight thirty, but Clayton was always a bit of a softie with that kind of thing."

"So, what time to you expect they were in bed by?"

"Latest, nine o'clock."

Sam frowned. That was a big time frame for the murder to have occurred in.

"Were any maids on duty?"

"No, all the servants leave before seven."

No witnesses.

"Do you have any cameras in your home?"

"No, just a burglar alarm, but that would have been off, obviously."

"Obviously," Sam repeated, thinking. "So they didn't find the murder weapon?"

"No that I know of."

"Could he have used one of the cushions, or a blanket?"

"I, I don't think so, there were none on the ground, and they were all where they were supposed to be."

"Was your husband very strong?"

"Well, I suppose. Normal, I guess."

"So the attacker couldn't have been female?"

"I would guess not, but you can," her voice was trembling. "Never know."

Sam noticed her distress, and stood. "Thank you for your time, Mrs Simon." The three shook hands again. Sam looked the woman right in the eye. "I really am sorry about your loss. I know the feeling, and I wish you all bravery you'll need."

The woman looked a little startled at Sam's strange statement, but it seemed to calm her down. She nodded solemnly. She escorted the two women to the door.

As Jennie and Sam walked down the steps outside the front door, Mrs Simon called out to them.

"Miss Manson?" Sam wheeled round. "You seem a strange person, but, I trust you. Please find who did this. Please."

"Molly, I'll do my best. We all will."

Mrs Simon nodded, closing the door softly, ignoring Sam's unsanctioned used of her Christian name.

* * *

"She didn't do it," Sam informed the rest of the team when she Jennie returned. 

"How do you know?" Jake asked.

"I can judge characters. She loved him."

"You're certain?"

Sam shot Jake a look that could wither a plant. He visibly shrunk before all their eyes under her stare.

"Yes."

"So, what now?" Mick asked. The team was sitting in a circle on their swivel chairs, each holding a stack of paper and photos and information.

"There are no other witnesses." Alex informed them.

"We have no definite suspects." Jennie said.

"Then that's what we need." Sam said. "I want you guys to go online and research _everyone _who might have had a grudge against Clayton Simon. Jennie, I gave you list of ideas earlier – that kind of thing."

Jennie nodded, reciting the list to the others. Mick, Jake, and Jennie wheeled back to their cubicles and began typing furiously. Sam put her hand on Keith's shoulder before he joined them.

"Keith, I want you to do something different. You find out everything about Clayton. His whole life."

"Okay." He started to move away, but turned back to Sam. "Why don't you ever do research?"

"I'm terrible at it, and I absolutely hate computers – and they know it and they hate me back."

Keith nodded slowly, confused, then went to his cubicle, muttering about how strange she was.

Sam smiled.

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**_not_ the most fascinating chapter ever, i'll give you, but it picks up, don't worry. please review!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	3. Three: Suspects

**A/N -i love danny phantom, but he isnt mine, and neither is Sam, or anyone or anything you recognize.**

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Three: Suspects

* * *

Sam asked for drink orders. She got three coffees, one tea and a beer. She sighed at the infuriating man whose order that was as she shut the door behind her. 

The Common Room was almost empty. Sam was on her usual sofa with a cup of water. Suddenly, the cushion next to her depressed with a new weight. She looked over to see her friend Danny sitting there, smiling at her.

"Hey Sam,"

"Hi Danny."

"You alright?"

"I'm okay. We got a case. An official assignment this time."

"Hey! That's great!"

"Yeah. I guess they thought we were up for it because of the whole 'Warehouse Rescue' thing."

"I guess so. Great job with that by the way."

She snorted. "Thanks. Almost got myself killed."

"But you didn't. Thanks to Phantom."

She moaned. "Not you too."

He looked surprised. "Why? What's wrong with him?"

"What a show-off!" She burst out. "Come on – he meddles in government business, police business, practically everyone's business but his own! He's gonna get hurt one day, or he's gonna get someone hurt and you can bet your ass I'm gonna be there, yelling at him that I knew it was going to happen!"

He could not suppress a laugh. He punched her arm lightly. "Samantha Manson, you are one in a million."

"Whatever. And it's Sam. Call me Samantha again and I'll be hoping you weren't too fond of your arms."

The kettle started hissing, and then it clicked; her cue to go pour her teammates' drinks, leaving a frightened Danny in her dust. She laughed. He was so adorable.

She froze. No. No he wasn't. He was just sweet. She cursed herself internally. She was not going to go getting mixed up with anyone. She didn't have time.

She didn't have time.

* * *

"We found pages and pages of people who might have a grudge against Clayton Simon." 

"Great." Sarcasm singed her voice. "Can you give me the biggies?"

"Okay," Mick scanned through the document. "We have a Mr Geoffrey Lock, former president of Image Inc., a company that Simon Enterprises bought out a few weeks ago. And last month Clayton fired his C.O.O–"

Jennie cut in. "His what?"

"Chief operating officer, his second in command, basically. Anyway, he fired him for embezzlement. Apparently he caught him before he stole enough money for the company not to recover, so there was no big scandal. Then there's Rhonda Miles, former editor-in-chief of The Mirage Times, our local paper," he added for Sam's benefit. "He had her fired for writing a story about him cheating on his business partners."

"A reporter? How could she be much of a threat?" Jake asked.

"Serious connections. She was friends with anyone of any importance in this town – including her ex-boyfriend and now her good friend, the police chief, and her husband's sister, the step-niece of the mayor."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, she's a dangerous one to piss off."

"But would she want to kill him for getting her fired?" Jennie asked.

"Maybe not," Sam said. "But someone could have done it to avenge her." The team nodded solemnly. "Anyone else?" She asked Mick.

"Oh, yeah. Everyone's favorite suspect – the arch-nemesis. Mason Wheatcroft, Chairman and C.E.O of MasonCorp, which is Simon Enterprises's biggest industry rival. Rumor has it that S.E. was about to take over one of MasonCorp's biggest subsidiary companies, and they had already that month signed a contract with MasonCorp's biggest buyer."

"Sounds good to me." Jake said, as the others nodded in agreement.

"Okay, he is a good suspect," Sam said levelly. "But let's not forget all our others."

"Come on Sam!" Jake said with a grin. "This guy had more reason to hate our guy's guts than the others combined and squared! It's gotta be him!"

"Alright," Sam said, unsure. "Let's question him."

"I'll see if I can get us an appointment," Mick said, picking up his phone.

"Jake," Sam said, turning to the man. "Since, you're so certain this is our guy, why don't you research him for me?"

"Sure thing, babe."

She ground her teeth as he winked and went for his computer. _Oh how she hated him_.

She shook it off and went over to Keith's desk.

"Hey, Keith, found anything?"

"Nothing huge. Simon's guy's life was pretty boring. He went to Priestly High School, Maine, then came here and attended Jayne University, got great grades," he pulled up the Jayne U site. Sam cocked her eyebrow at their symbol – a tree with a ribbon spiraling around it. Corny much? Keith went to the yearbook page and showed her a picture of a young Clayton Simon, with very, very thick glasses.

"Nerd?"

"Well, it doesn't say here, but I'd imagine so. He set up the computer company from the remains of his uncle's old company, and got rich. Easy story. Got any suspects?"

"Four big ones and plenty of small ones, but the others have convinced themselves we only have one."

"Yeah, they can be like that sometimes. As long as _you_ keep an open mind, I'm sure we'll be okay."

She smiled at him. "Thanks."

"Who is their suspect?"

"Mason Wheatcroft, from MasonCorp."

"Yeah that makes sense. Those two never got on."

"So, did you find anything about his family?"

"Well, there was his wife and children, which, of course, we already knew," Sam nodded. "His parents are dead."

"How?"

"Mother died of cancer ten years ago, and his father followed soon after. He just gave up."

"That must have been hard for him."

"Yeah, I know. Anyway, he was an only child, his uncle, his mother's brother, was killed in a car crash when he was ten years old. Grandparents are all dead – this guy was pretty much alone in the world."

"Friends?"

"Very few. He was apparently quite good friends with his wife's brother, his brother-in-law, Kyle White. Apart from that though, he was a bit of a loner. Doted on his kids though."

"I can imagine," Sam said, thinking of their beautiful, vulgarly decorated house. So he spent a lot of time at work?"

"Tons. He practically lived in his office."

"Did he ever have an affair?"

Keith looked a little taken aback at her random question. "Uh, not that anyone knows of. He was supposedly deeply in love with his wife. He was often heard saying that he thought she was the most wonderful woman he'd ever known."

"Where did they meet?"

"Star Wars fan site."

Sam could not help but to laugh.

* * *

Sam left her apartment half an hour early the next morning, deciding to walk to work and save herself the hassle of waiting in the endless jams up around the new Amity Bridge. 

She saw it as she walked past. It looked like a miniature Golden Gate Bridge, sweeping and covered in cables, only silver instead of red. It looked quite impressive over the Anderson River. There were other bridges over the river, but they were small ones. Amity Bridge was constructed to link the recently laid Main Road on either side of the Anderson. It had been months and months in construction, apparently. It was six lanes across – a monster of a bridge. But somehow, whoever had designed it had made it so it was not some ugly mar on the face of the glass city. Sam was impressed.

There was to be an opening ceremony in two days' time, to which the whole city was probably going to go. Jennie had squeezed a promise out of Sam to go with her and see it. Sam sighed at the prospect as she carried on walking.

She arrived at work about ten minutes late, a grand improvement on the day before. This was the day they were going to interview Mason Wheatley, their chief suspect, and she was looking forward to it, if only to prove to Jake that it wasn't him and that he was wrong.

But Sam was accosted the moment she walked in the door.

And this time it wasn't by the hustle, or the noise, or the action. It was by Jennie. And she looked like she was in shock.

"Sam!" She cried. "You're finally here! Something terrible has happened!"

"What's the matter Jennie?" Sam demanded, concerned.

"Sam," Jennie's eyes were wide as she looked at her friend. "Mason Wheatcroft is dead!"

* * *

**oops...cliffie! and hey, some story progression!**

**please review! and if you havent gone to my profile and voted on which story i should do next - shame on you!!!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	4. Four: Cross

**A/N - danny phantom no mine. Mirages's storyline is. no touchie :p**

* * *

Four: Cross

* * *

"What!" Sam shouted. "Dead?" 

"Yes, he was murdered last night."

Sam pursed her lips. "Suffocated?"

"I'm not even going to ask how you knew that."

"Did they find the murder weapon this time?"

"Nope. Exactly the same scene."

She led Sam to her desk, and the two poured over the photos and the case file. Case 222.

"'Mason Wheatcroft, thirty nine. Unmarried. Suffocated in home.'" Sam read, dismayed. Their chief suspect, gone – and another murder on their hands.

Jake walked past, and Sam could not hold herself in. "So much for our _only _suspect," she spat at him. He glared at her, then winked and shrugged and continued on. She smiled, knowing she had won that round.

"Exactly the same?" Sam said to Jennie.

"Ye-ah – no." Jennie's eyes widened as she read an information sheet. "They found an imprint on his face."

"An imprint? Of what?"

"They think it's a button."

"So he was suffocated with some item of clothing. Well," she sighed. "It doesn't narrow our options much, but it does narrow them."

Jennie showed her a close-up photo of the indent. It was still quite fresh.

"How long was he dead before they found him?"

"They guessed only a very short while – half an hour at most. He was still slightly warm when the maid showed up for work and found him, sprawled on the floor, leaning up slightly against a sofa."

"Wow; that must have been a surprise."

Jennie nodded somberly.

Sam examined the photograph of the imprint. It was round, with a design in the middle. She couldn't quite make it out. She carried it to Keith.

"Keith?"

He pulled the lollipop from his mouth. "Yes?"

"Can you scan this onto your computer and mess with it a bit? See if you can make the design on that mark come up clearer?"

He took the photo carefully and looked at it. "Sure, I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks."

Sam returned to Jennie's desk. "Jennie, find everything you can on our Mr Wheatcroft.

"Okay," Jennie agreed, still looking shaken up.

Sam walked over to her desk. She half sat on it, her feet on the floor, her hands braced against the edge of the desk. She was surprised by the turn of events. But she could not truthfully say she was shocked by the new development.

She stared into space. She suddenly rose and walked over to Alex's desk, where the dark-haired man was staring at the two photos of the murdered men.

"Alex?"

He looked up at her. "Yeah?"

"Can you please try and find a list of suspects for the Mason case? Especially see if there are any linking with the ones Mick found for Clayton Simon."

"Sure thing," he said, instantly beginning to type on his computer. She heard him mutter something quietly as she turned to leave. "Thank God, something to do." She smiled.

A few minutes later she found herself outside the Common Room door, without even realizing she had been walking. She shrugged and pushed the door open, hoping Danny would be inside, as he usually had something useful to offer, even if it was just laughter.

Luckily enough, she spotted the black head as soon as she stepped inside. She walked over to her sofa and sat heavily, with a sigh. Danny turned, seeing her, and went to stand over her.

"Any developments?"

"You mean, apart from the fact that out most important suspect was found killed yesterday in circumstances greatly resembling those our first body was found in? Not really."

He grinned at her, sitting. "Don't worry. So have you got any leads?"

"No, but I've got most of the team upstairs working on it." He nodded. "Oh! Wait, we do have one. The two men were both suffocated, and there was nothing on the first man, but this new one – Mason Wheatcroft – had the imprint of a button on his cheek."

"Right, so it was probably a jacket of some kind."

"Yeah."

"Any connection between the two men?"

"We're looking for one."

He rose. "Well, tell me if you find anything. And keep your eyes open – sometimes the biggest leads come from the tiniest pieces of information."

"Okay. Thanks Danny."

"No problem. Now go back and see what they've found."

"Yes, Sir!" She stood, saluting him. He laughed.

"Impressive salute – got a military background, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Wow. With who?"

" Russia."

His eyes widened and she laughed at his gullibility. "I was in the SEALs for five years."

He breathed out in relief. "Oh, okay. Well, that's cool. I'll see you later, Sam."

"Right. Bye."

She reentered the office and had to choose who to go to first. She decided on Alex, who looked very bored.

"Found anything?"

"Yeah, a few people who wouldn't have been his greatest fans. But nobody with a serious grudge."

"Anyone the same as Clayton's suspects?"

"Not one."

Sam checked her disappointment. "Oh well."

She walked over to Jennie.

"Okay Jennie, tell me about our man."

"He was a bit boring. He was home schooled until university. He was apparently a bit of a social reject. On his university page only one person has left condolences. Philip Cross. No one else seems to care he's dead."

"Where did he go to university?"

"Jayne."

Sam blinked in surprise. " Jayne University? The one right near Amity Park?"

"Uh, yeah. Why?"

Sam looked hurriedly over at Keith. "Keith!" She barked, startling the man so his head popped up worriedly from behind his cubicle. "Which university did you say Simon went to?"

"Uh, Jayne."

Jennie's eyes widened.

"Jennie," Sam said, leaning in closer to the screen. "Can you go to Simon's page?"

Jennie typed in the name quickly. The page came up, with a picture of the deceased man at the top. "Go to the condolences." Jennie scrolled down. There were only two.

"Philip Cross, and–"

"Mason Wheatcroft." Sam finished. "Isn't Cross the man who commented on Wheatcroft's page too?"

"Yes, he was. Do you think they were friends in Uni?"

"It's definitely a possibility." Sam scanned the information on Simon. "He was part of the computer club."

"Shocking," Jennie murmured.

"Go to their page?"

"Okay," Jennie clicked on a couple links and finally came up with the page they wanted. She clicked on the year the two men would have been in the club.

"Photos?"

Jennie found a link and clicked it. A photo came up. There were only three men, and the caption confirmed that they were the only three members of the computer club that year.

"Mustn't have been popular," Jennie speculated.

"I guess not."

The picture showed a very young looking Clayton Simon with heavy sideburns standing next to an also young Mason Wheatcroft, who was sporting what looked like an afro. Wheatcroft had one arm around Simon's shoulder, and the other around that of a man the two women did not recognize. Sam glanced at the caption.

"'Clayton Simon, Mason Wheatcroft and Philip Cross.' So that's our Mr Cross."

The two women peered at him. "Okay Jennie, keep digging. Look at the relationship between these three, and tell me anything else interesting you find."

"Okay."

Sam left her to go see Keith. "Got anything out of that picture yet?"

"Not quite, but I'm getting there."

"Great, keep going."

Sam next approached Mick. "Mick, will you come with me?"

He got up. "Sure. Where?"

"We're going to go talk to a Mr Philip Cross."

* * *

Sam and Mick stood outside a pleasant house in the suburbs an hour later. They had found out where Philip Cross lived, and had also discovered that he lived alone, and was Chairman of the Board at Frayne, an enormous manufacturing empire. Three successful men, three best friends. 

Mick knocked on the door while Sam fought the urge to blow on her hands. It was getting very cold outside now, and she knew she was going to need to get some gloves quickly.

Nobody answered to door.

Sam sighed in frustration. "It had better not be a fussy maid again."

"No, he didn't employ a maid."

Sam went and slammed the knocker down five times. Still nothing, so she did it again. But still no-one came to the door.

"Could he be at work?"

Sam glanced at the car in the drive. "No."

"Asleep?"

"It's five in the afternoon."

Mick frowned. "Come on," he beckoned as he went to skirt the house. Sam followed him, as he opened the side gate and walked along the side of the house. They reached the back, where there was a conservatory. Sam cupped her hands over her eyes and peered into the room as Mick did the same.

She scanned the part of the kitchen she could see, then the sitting room. She saw nothing though. Mick took his hands away, disappointed. Sam kept looking, then finally turned her gaze to the conservatory itself. She scanned the floor, and suddenly did a double take at the sofa.

"Mick!" She gasped. "There's something behind the sofa!"

It looked like a foot. The two ran to the side of the conservatory and peered in again.

Lying prostrate behind the sofa was a man she recognized as Philip Cross.

* * *

**uh oh! another cliffie!!!**

**review please!!!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	5. Five: Arrest

**A/N - i still do not own danny phantom or any related characters or places.**

* * *

Five: Arrest

* * *

Mick ran back to the conservatory door, shaking the handle. The door did not budge, and he rattled it harder. Nothing happened. Sam sprinted to him, desperate. Her only lead could still be alive and she was certainly not going to let him die while she stood there doing nothing. 

She turned to the side slightly and delivered a bone-shattering roundhouse kick to the door. In this case, it was a glass-shattering kick. She leapt through the hole she had created and hurried to the body behind the sofa. She felt for a pulse, barely aware of Mick heaving the sofa away to create more room for them.

But the man's skin was icy cold and pasty white. No hint of a pulse showed, on his neck, wrist, or even his chest, when Sam lowered her head to it to listen for his heartbeat. She sat back on her heels, deflated.

She looked around for a murder weapon, knowing there would be none. She was right. She looked back at the man's face, terror etched into it. He was wearing a suit. Someone had evidently caught him just before he left for work.

Three successful men, three best friends. Three murders.

Mick ran his fingers through his hair as Sam rose to call the police.

"Sam," he said, unable to take his eyes off of the corpse next to him. She glanced at his face. "Three men, three murders," he looked right into her eyes. "We're dealing with a serial killer now."

* * *

The two returned much later to their office after a grueling police interrogation. Mick slunk off to his desk. Sam knew he had been deeply affected by seeing the body. She saw death a lot, or she had, and she often forgot the horrible feeling that tugs at your gut the first time you do. 

She set her raggedy purse down on her chair, and went over to Jennie.

"Hey Jennie. Got anything?"

"Oh ho have I." She excitedly opened a Word document. "Okay, I dug around the site for a long time, and I finally found this comment conversation on two people's pages. I flicked back and forth to read the whole thing. Here it is."

Sam scanned the conversation.

_THawke: hey D, haven't talked to you in a bit _

_DFisk: T ! how've you been doing? _

_THawke: gd. Ran into that loser Simon the other day _

_DFisk: lol no kidding. is he still a dork? _

_THawke: you have no idea. he's some big businessman now _

_DFisk: last I heard that whole nerdy trio was – Simon, Cross and Wheatcroft _

_THawke: it isn't fair. I had everything going on for me at JU _

_DFisk: dude, you were the quarterback and were failing all your classes _

_THawke: I was set to play for the Dolphins _

_DFisk: the __Miami__ Dolphins? dude _

_THawke: but I didn't get it. they got everything they wanted. I got nothing _

_DFisk: its not their fault _

_THawke: how do you know? _

Jennie judged by Sam's silent stare at the opposite wall that she was done reading.

"That last entry was five days ago. Just before–"

Sam cut her off. "The first murder. But, come on – could you really be _that_ vengeful? It doesn't make sense."

"I checked out THawke – his full name is Timothy Hawke. He never got to play for the Dolphins. He got into a serious fight with one of the coaches, put him into a coma, I think, and he was banned from professional sports for the rest of his life. Sports were all he could do. He was kind of thick, but got three sports scholarships to JU.

"Hawke was a hothead in Uni, often getting into fights. When he failed tests he used to beat up, well, nerds. He put each of the boys in our trio in hospital at least once. Since then he's been put in prison for all kinds of assaults. And," she tapped a pencil on the desk. "This is the icing on the cake. He had psychiatric help in Uni, which he continued until he went to prison three years ago. Anger management and other work with delusions. They were where he met his best friend, the man he was speaking to on JU page."

"So you think he deluded himself into believing that these three men were responsible for his lack of success in life?"

"Sam, I read parts of his files and reports. They guy was a nutcase. Still is, if my theory is right."

Sam shook her head. She did not pretend to understand psychiatry, but she supposed she could imagine that someone could convince themselves of something like this. Especially if they had years in prison without his usual psychiatric help to mull it over. The mind could be a powerful illusionist. Creating worlds, realities, mirages.

She sighed, undecided. "I'm not sure, Jennie. I'm not…" her voice trailed off.

Suddenly her head snapped up.

"Keith!" She barked, bounding over to his desk, vaguely aware of Jennie on her heels. She put her head right next to the lollipop stick and stared at the screen. Stared at the picture he had been trying to clarify of the imprint on the deceased Mason Wheatcroft. She could make out the picture, now that she knew what she was looking at.

It was a tree, with a ribbon wound loosely around it.

"Mick!" she called, not taking her eyes off of the screen. "Pull up a picture of the Jayne U football team. The year Timothy Hawke played. Quickly!"

Mick instantly did what she asked, typing furiously. Each click of the keys was like a punch in the head to Sam. She was so close.

"Here!" Mick said, turning his monitor so Sam and the team, who had congregated around Keith's computer, could see it. A picture of the football team, smiling and all with their arms over each other's shoulders. Sam barely glanced at the caption, her eye distantly noticing the names Timothy Hawke and Dalton Fisk.

"Zoom in on the button on the jacket." Mick did so, and a small gasp escaped Jennie. Her head snapped between the button imprint pictured on Keith's computer and the button on the jacket on Mick's.

"Oh my God," Jake said, dumbfounded.

"He suffocated the three of them – with his Uni letterman jacket." Sam breathed. She turned to Jennie. "You were right, Jennie. It was Hawke."

"So what do we do?" Jennie asked, looking excited over her success.

"We get a warrant for the bastard's arrest."

* * *

**ooo some unfolding. but will there be a twist...? only i know... **

**o damn and now so do you all :D well that wasnt very subtle of me, was it?**

**review please!!!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	6. Six: Bridge

**A/N - i dont own danny phantom. never have - never will.**

**again, I take some liberties with the look & layout of Amity Park in this chappie ;**

* * *

Six: Bridge

* * *

The whole team turned up to watch their serial killer being arrested. Even Keith, who, by the pallor of his skin, Sam guessed had not seen the outside world for quite some time.

It was eleven in the morning the next day. Sam had been tossing all night, fitful with excitement. _Tomorrow_, she knew, _is the best day – the capture, and the victory_. She stood now with her hands clasped behind her black trench coat, eagerly anticipating the arrest. Alex held the handcuffs, being the biggest of them all and the least likely to be taken down by an ex-football star. Well, as far as they knew. The team were still in the dark as to the extent of Sam's military background, and she didn't see the need to fill them in now.

Jennie was gnawing at her false nails, Keith was wearing sunglasses, though the sun was barely visible behind what looked to Sam like storm clouds, and Mick and Jake just looked stoic. Sam had a feeling they were bracing themselves for Hawke to put up a fight.

There was a police van parked down on the road, with a few police officers scattered around just in case Hawke made it past the detectives.

Sam knocked on the door first, unwilling to wait and see if her teammates' pathetic taps would actually bring someone to the door this time. She stepped back begrudgingly as Alex had asked her to do earlier for her own safety. She could probably take anyone better than even Alex could, but she did not want to set him any more on edge than he already was.

It was a little while before he door was opened. A blond man with the beginnings of a beer belly opened it wide and peered suspiciously at the six people before him.

"Uh, yeah? What're you all doing here?"

"Timothy Hawke?" Mick asked.

"That be me. Who's asking?"

Mick flashed his badge. "Michael Ruddy, FBI. You're under arrest for the murders of Clayton Simon, Mason Wheatcroft and Philip Cross."

"Those three eh? Haven't seen them in some time–"

"Don't bother lying to us Mr Hawke," Alex said as he turned the staggering man round and handcuffed him. Mick read him his rights as Sam watched suspiciously. The man was quite obviously drunk.

She approached him as he was bundled into the police van.

"Mr Hawke?"

"Yeah?" He double took at Sam and gave her a grin she hadn't seen since her own university days. "What can I do for you?" He drew out the vowels at the end of 'you'.

She ignored her revulsion. "Have you been drunk long?"

"Gosh, I can't remember the last time I was sober."

Sam nodded distractedly. She held up her hand. "Can you touch my hand with your nose?"

He looked confused, but stared at her hand determinedly with unfocused eyes. He butted his head in the general direction of her hand, but missed.

Twice.

"Thank you, Mr Hawke."

Sam walked back over to Jennie and stood beside her, arms folded, weight on one leg, watching the drunk being manhandled into the car. He seemed disorientated. Sam was not even sure if he actually realized he was being arrested.

Her brow furrowed into a small frown.

* * *

"Sam? It's Jennie! You ready yet?" 

Sam opened the door to let her friend in, then darted into her coat closet for her trench coat. She wore a black roll neck, with black jeans and black trainers, and when she came back with the black leather trench coat Jennie could not help but roll her eyes.

"Do you own nothing but black?"

"Do you own nothing but purple?" Sam retorted, closing the door and eying her friend's purple dress, strappy shoes and suede jacket. Jennie laughed and took Sam's arm, leading her towards the elevator.

They spilled out of the door at the base of Sam's building and Jennie walked to the edge of the sidewalk, her arm in the air.

Sam caught it and pulled it down. "What're you doing?"

"Hailing a cab, silly."

Sam laughed, shaking her head. "It's less than a ten minute walk to the bridge. Come on."

She tried to pull Jennie after her, but Jennie was showing some resolve.

"No." She said, like a small child.

"We're walking."

"My shoes!" Jennie wailed.

"Walk barefoot." All the blood drained from Jennie's face, and Sam struggled to contain a guffaw. "Come on."

Sam finally won, and the two women were on their way to the Amity Bridge Opening Ceremony. Sam was just glad the traffic would improve now that the bridge and its entire works were done.

The bridge was lighted. It was about six thirty, and just getting dark. An enormous crowd had amassed on the bridge, practically filling the entire expanse of the six lanes. A foot thick red ribbon was tied across all the lanes, waiting to be cut with the oversized silver scissors the mayor of Amity Park was holding.

But first – speeches.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," the mayor's voice roared out over the masses, metallic, grainy and echoing in a microphone. Sam looked behind her. The whole city was filled with skyscrapers with glass panels. The whole city was reflecting the light off of the bridge, and the sunset just visible in the distance. It was quite beautiful.

"…the opening of this bridge, our city will be able to…"

Amity Park was often referred to as the Glass City. It was wonderful. Sam loved the simplicity of it all. The contrast of the highlights on the glass, the shadows in the alleys. It was exciting. She breathed in deeply. Excitement was what she craved so much in her life.

"…complete. We will have a…"

Sam's eyes moved to a black head far in front of her. _Danny!_ She thought excitedly. She wanted to tell him about her unit's success. She had not had a chance earlier, with all the celebration going on in her office. Her team had been overjoyed.

Champagne had been produced.

"…to thank the designer, who will now be speaking. May I please present…"

Clapping ensued as Sam whispered her destination to Jennie. Jennie nodded, and pointed to a brown head in front of them, to the right. They pushed through the throng in their respective directions.

Suddenly Sam felt a hand slip around her waist. She reached for it, fully intending to throw whoever it was mauling her over her shoulder onto his back.

But the click of a cocked gun at the nape of her neck threw all those thoughts out of her mind.

"Walk forwards."

The hand disappeared, and the gun retreated, but came back pushing against the base of her spine. She had no choice but to do what he said. She walked in a straight line, pushing through the crowds.

Escape plans ran through her mind, but she looked around her and realized that they all posed too great a risk to the innocent people surrounding them. The crowd was too thick or distracted for anyone to notice the gun on her.

The two of them reached the edge of the bridge. They were beside one of the supporting columns of the great bridge.

She felt the man lean in to whisper right in her ear, his lips touching her skin. "Climb up."

What did he think she was – a spider? But then she noticed rungs welded to the side of the column. Stairs. The thought of climbing up those rickety bars made her stomach crunch in on itself, but she put one hand on a rung, and then one foot.

The metal was icy against her already freezing hands. She noticed that her hands were red, her nails turning purple. She had forgotten to get gloves in the end. She glanced towards the crowd. She was on the other side of the large metal pillar to them. There was no chance someone would notice her unless she screamed. But then the man might shoot her, or worse – shoot anyone who came to her rescue.

She set her teeth and put her other foot and hand up on the rungs. She whispered thanks that she was wearing trainers and not heels or some other impractical shoe. Slowly she climbed, aware of the man behind her doing the same. She could kick him in the head, or tread on his hand, but then he might grab onto her as she fell and pull them both to their deaths. She decided there was nothing more she could do to help herself while they were on the stairs and concentrated on not falling.

She neared the top. The stairs ended on a girder that spanned the six lanes of the bridge. As she got closer, she realized that the one they were heading for actually had a platform on it, about ten feet wide and the six lanes across. There were no sides. It was a death drop into the middle of the crowd, still unaware of the kidnapping occurring above them. The designer of the bridge was still speaking.

_Oh Jennie_, Sam thought desperately. _If only I had taken you with me_.

She rounded the top of the column, swinging her leg onto the platform. It was made of a thin, grey metal. It felt as though she would rip right through it if she jumped high and landed on it. She took some tentative steps backwards, waiting for her kidnapper to round the top.

She was planning on kicking him as he was defenseless and unbalanced, but her honor stopped her. It was unfair. She fought with herself. It was self defense. She had no doubt this man was going to kill her. But, still, he would be defenseless.

It was too late; he was standing on the platform with her, pointing the gun at her face. She glared at him, and, suddenly, a spark of recognition flashed in the back of her mind.

He was the man from the JU football team photo. The man standing next to Timothy Hawke. Dalton Fisk. Jennie's words ricocheted around her mind. Hawke's psychiatry sessions. _They were where he met his best friend, the man he was speaking to on JU page_.DFisk. Psychiatry sessions – this guy was crazy too.

" Dalton Fisk!" She cried. "You did it! You killed Simon, and Wheatcroft, and Cross! Not Hawke!"

* * *

**uh oh Sammy's in trouble...**

**review please!!! next chapter is last...**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	7. Seven: Fisk

**A/N - i dont own Danny Phantom but this idea and this story are mine!!!**

**final chapter...oooooo...**

* * *

Seven: Fisk

* * *

He chuckled, approaching her. "Well done little detective." 

"My name is Sam." She spoke through gritted teeth.

"Such a pretty name. I must admit, I was quite surprised when you arrested poor, drunk, clueless Tim for the murder of three men. I thought detectives were smarter than that."

Her face was becoming tinged with red, her hands shaking with cold. "Why kill them? They did nothing to you!"

"No, but, my poor friend Tim. They tore him down. They took his chances. They stole his success!" Sam bit her tongue. She had to remind herself – the guy was insane, and there was no point arguing with him.

"Why do you want to kill me?"

"Kill you? Why would you think I would kill you?"

"The gun was a bit of a giveaway."

He laughed manically. "Yes! I guess it is. No matter. You'll be dead – it's that okay you know it was me. Me, all along. I did it. I fooled the _government_!" He sounded very proud of himself.

She scowled. "You didn't fool me."

"No. I suppose I didn't. It was your idiot team that was certain it was poor, drunk Tim, huh? You saw past it. I saw it in your face that day. From my house."

"Across the street?"

"Aren't you the clever one?" He snapped. "Why do I want to kill you? Vengeance. For my poor friend Tim. Poor Tim. Never was quite right. Always a little off. Little angry, little mad. Not right."

Sam backed away from the madman, who was now waving the gun around disconcertingly. He spoke again. "Why do I want to kill you?" He sounded as though he had forgotten that he had just answered that question.

"Let me guess. Vengeance?"

"Yes! Aren't you a clever one? So were the three losers. Clever, clever, clever. They were mad. Not right, too clever. I got them. I killed them. I killed them!"

He laughed hysterically. "They're dead! They're dead. They've paid. They tore down his career. They killed poor Tim's dreams. Killed them. So _I _killed _them_! They're dead."

He turned, folding his arms. Sam debated the wisdom of tackling the total psycho down from behind. When he turned, she stopped considering and focused on what he was doing. He frightened her, but she suppressed the fear.

She looked around her. There was nothing up there. The platform was completely bare. Nothing she could use as a weapon. The only escape she could see was the way she had come up. But she would have to completely incapacitate him to try that, or he would just shoot her on the way down. There was probably another staircase on the other end, but it was a long run, and he could still shoot her. Either way, she would have to completely take him out to have any chance.

It was growing dark. The season meant that the dark came very fast. It was just past twilight, and the only light was that coming from the fairy lights wrapped around the bridge, the Hollywood searchlights moving around on the other end of the bridge, and the spotlight on the man who had managed to _still_ be speaking. Periodically applause sounded, but the noise was growing dim as panic began to grasp Sam's heart. She tried to ignore it, but it grew with every passing second.

She had no way out.

Suddenly, Fisk started walking towards her. She stood her ground, deciding that if she was going to die now, she would do it with flair. Why not?

He pointed the gun straight between her eyes. She stared right down its barrel, her chin high. Acceptance of her fate had succeeded in bringing her more calm than she had felt since Matt's death all those years ago. It had been her fault, but now it was her turn to go and, ironically, it was her fault again.

But the barrel lowered. She stared into the man's eyes, hoping to see a reprise.

Instead she saw a murderous, sadistic glint.

"Poor Tim's dreams fell down." he started muttering, well, insanely. "Fell to their deaths." He snapped to face her. "They fell to their deaths." He grabbed her arm. He leaned right in to her face.

She could smell his breath; see the whites of his wildly wide eyes.

"And so will you."

He pulled her to the edge. The possible reprise from death had filled Sam with new hope, and her previous acceptance of it fell to the wayside. There was no way she was not going to go down fighting.

She shoved the palm of her hand into his elbow, straightening his arm forcefully and pushing back his shoulder into an unnatural position. He yelped and smacked her head with the butt of his gun. He nursed his arm as she sprawled to the ground, leaping up again instantly, ignoring the pain and round-housing him in the gut. He bent in half but remained standing. She kneed him under the chin, then punched him in the face. He staggered back as she fought to control the agony in her knuckles from the vicious punch.

"You bitch!" he yelled as he touched his face and realized that she had split the skin. She was glad at least that she had caused him damage for all her pain. She braced herself for his next attack.

The crowd below started screaming and yelling with applause as the ribbon was finally cut.

But Fisk did not attack her. She had forgotten about the gun.

He raised the weapon and shot her.

Luckily the pain he was suffering affected his aim, missing her core. However the bullet still chewed into her shoulder. The crowd did not hear the gunshot through all the noise they were making. Besides, she realized it had a silencer on it.

She fell to the floor, clutching her shoulder, ripping at her lip with her teeth to hold back a cry. He stalked over to her and grabbed her neck.

She felt his hand against her throat, his rough palm digging right into her windpipe. She struggled for breath, scrabbling at his arm with her good hand, the other one hanging limply by her side, streaming with blood.

He seemed impervious to her clawing and tearing. She saw the murder shining in his eyes and knew that he was so angry he was numb to the pain. She herself had been in that state once before, but not now.

Now she felt everything acutely.

Black swirled in her vision, spots appearing at the sides. She could hear herself gasping for breath. _He's choking me_._ He's killing me_._ I'm dying_. The eight words swam through her head incoherently, yet their meaning shone through.

She was suddenly lifted off her feet; and the pain intensified as her whole weight dangled from the hand around her throat. He carried her away somewhere. She could not see where. Then the light intensity changed and she suddenly realized that he was holding her off the edge of the bridge.

Her whole body clenched painfully in fright.

But she was suddenly jerked back, tossed to the floor - and the death-grip on her neck disappeared. She coughed violently, clutching her neck; feeling her icy hands soothing the raw agony. She gasped in air, hearing it rattle through her damaged windpipe. When the pain had gone down slightly, she looked up to see what had happened to her would-be murderer. And her mouth opened slightly.

Fisk was viciously battling Phantom. The black outfit was difficult to see in the dim light, but the white hair and the glowing green eyes were unmistakable. They seemed to be evenly matched, but that was more because Phantom was doing less fighting and more dodging. She knew that he could take Fisk in a second but was reluctant to do so.

Suddenly Fisk kicked Phantom between the legs. He collapsed at the cheap shot, and Fisk cackled and kicked him in the neck. Phantom fell completely to the floor in pain, and Fisk aimed his gun.

Sam collected all her strength, bunching her muscles as Fisk grinned cockily, tensing herself. She sprang at the man. The gun fired off into the air as the pair tumbled to the ground.

And rolled off the edge of the platform.

Sam held back a choke of fear. This really was it. At least she went in style – saving a man's life, albeit an idiot, and probably stalker's life, and taking a murderer with her. She pushed off from Fisk as he began flailing his arms madly, and she fell gracefully through the air, her back to the ground.

She heard hundreds of screams around her – none of them hers. Screaming was pointless.

Suddenly a hand appeared on either side of her waist. She felt them sliding around her and looked up into the piercing green eyes of Phantom. The moron had jumped after her? So not only was he probably creepily following her around - as he seemd to be there whenever she happened to be in trouble - but he was even _stupider_ than she had _thought_.

Difficult.

It took her a long moment to realize that they were no longer falling.

It took her a little longer to reach her next deduction.

"You're flying!" She croaked out painfully, unsure if he actually understood her, as even she had trouble making out her words. Her hand went to her crushed throat.

He nodded slowly. "Are you alright?"

"I guess." Each word was agony to bark out. She felt a surge of fear when she realized how high they were, and slipped her hands onto his forearms for support, fighting back the wave of pain in her injured shoulder.

"Your hands are cold." he said. She just stared at him, barely noticing the fact that they had just landed on the bridge, and that the whole city was staring at them. He pulled off his white gloves, one by one, and slipped them onto her tiny hands. "Better?"

She did not reply.

"Well, I hope you're alright." he said, sounding sincere. Then he dematerialized into the air. The hands that had made their way back to his forearms after they had been gloved clenched together in the sudden absence of what they had been holding.

Her mouth was slightly open.

* * *

The crushed body of Dalton Fisk was covered with a sheet and loaded into a van on a white stretcher. Sam had a blanket around her shoulders and an ice pack on her neck, which was already promising to show a spectacular bruise. Her shoulder had already been bandaged. She had been told that she would not need any further attention to it, as the bullet had only just skimmed the skin. 

A woman approached her. Sam recognized her instantly. It was Sarah Herman; the woman who had offered her the job at the FBI.

"Hello, Samantha. You've had an interesting night." Sam nodded with a small smile. "Are you alright?" Sam nodded again. "Well, we're impressed with you. Catching the real villain here, saving Phantom. Good job. We're impressed." She repeated herself.

Sam nodded in gratitude, loathe to even _attempt_ to speak.

She looked up at the stars as the woman retreated, Jennie putting her hand gently on her friend's uninjured shoulder. _Another case solved for Unit 615_.

"So," Sam croaked, raising an eyebrow. "What now?"

* * *

**please review!!! if you guys liked it i'll do another sequel - and there will be a lot more Danny in this one ;) lots of you have been asking for that!!!!**

**until next time!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


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